MY DESTINED MATE IS A LYCAN KING CHAPTER 3

I encircled myself with both my arms, embracing the one thing in this bizarre new universe that somehow remained mine. My baby kicked once more, softer this time as if trying to reassure the terrified stranger that was supposed to be its mother.

A single tear trickled down my cheek.

“Who are you?” I whispered to the little life growing inside of me. “Who… am I?”

The question lingered in the sterile air, unanswered.

In the fragmented remains of my mind, a disturbing darkness lurked.

The nurse moved closer to me, a look of compassion on her face. “You don’t know your name? Where you’re from?”

I pressed a shaking palm to my temple as a fresh burst of pain tore across my brain. "I don't remember my name… and I don't remember where I belong. My head hurts…" 

She gave a nod of understanding. "You have contusions on your head. That's why you can't remember. You're in Lycan King territory."

My eyes widened. "Lycan King territory?" It tasted weird in my mouth. "Who is your Lycan King? And… you said that I'm pregnant. How many months?"

Nurse and Doctor exchanged a look before answering. "Our Lycan King is Hale Cross. You're in the territory of the White Crescent Cross Pack."

Hale Cross.

White Crescent Cross Pack.

No one name sounded familiar to me. It was just words hanging around in sterile air.

The doctor came nearer. "You're about three months pregnant. Baby is healthy for what happened to both of you. You're a very lucky girl."

Lucky.

I looked down at the soft bump that was underneath the thin hospital gown. Small, but there. Round. Alive.

My hand was moving of its own accord, shaking slightly as it touched the rounded surface.

A light kick greeted me, a persistent kick, impossible to miss.

The world spun around me.

“Three months…” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’ve been pregnant for three months… and I don’t even know who the father is. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. I wrapped my hands protectively around my belly, hugging the one thing that seemed to be mine in this strange new world. The baby kicked once again, softly this time, as if comforting the scared stranger that would one day be its mother.

The nurse squeezed my hand lightly. “It’s alright, you are under the protection of King Hale here. Do not wander  you are still ill.”

But nothing felt alright.

Deep down in the shattered pieces of my mind, something dark and terrible stirred like an impending nightmare. And for the first time since waking up, just one horrible question surfaced from the rest.

Hale Cross – who was he, and what was it about the sound of his name that had made my heart race with the nearness of fear?

A few weeks went by in a blur of white walls, sour medicine, and restless nights.

It was difficult to keep track of time at the infirmary. Time stretched and bled into itself under the same stark fluorescent lighting each day, and days were measured by the kicks of the baby in my hand, the gradual ebb of pain at the back of my left temple, and the softening of the voices of the nurses.

I healed in fragments.

There was the large cut at my shoulder that healed into a faint scar that always pulled tight if I lifted my arm too high. There was the pain in my head that had faded into a tolerable throb that would only come to life when I moved my head too quickly. There were the bruises covering my arms and legs in purple and black that faded until they vanished entirely, but there was no healing for the void inside my head.

The baby was growing each day.

As time passed, the small movements grew more frequent and determined; somehow, my small passenger seemed to want to remind me that I wasn’t entirely alone. Sometimes, after hours had passed and the infirmary had grown silent, I would lie there holding my belly in my hands, telling the only thing that was real for me.

“Here I am,” I told the baby. “I don’t remember who I am… but I’m here.”

The nurses had taken notice of the way I was always careful with my belly. One morning, while a young nurse named Mira tended to my temple wound, she finally voiced the words that would give me a temporary identity.

“Still can’t remember anything?” she asked quietly, her hands gentle as they handled my skin.

I shook my head. It made my skull throb lightly. “Nothing. Not even my name. Not my family. Not why I was in that river. It’s just… all gone.”

Mira’s brown eyes softened with sympathy. She finished securing the fresh bandage and sat on the edge of the bed, clipboard resting on her lap. “The doctors say the contusions were severe. Memory loss like this can last weeks… months… sometimes longer. Until your memories return, we need something to call you.”

I stared at my hands. “I don’t care what you call me.”

“I do,” she said firmly. Then her voice gentled. “Isla. We’ll call you Isla.”

I looked up. “Isla?”

“It means ‘island,’” Mira explained with a small smile. “It suits a girl who washed up from nowhere. An island standing alone in the middle of the sea.”

Something in my chest tightened. Alone. Yes. That felt true.

“Isla…” I repeated the name slowly, testing it on my tongue. It felt foreign, like a dress that didn’t quite fit, but it was better than “the unknown pregnant girl.” Better than silence.

“Isla,” I whispered again. “Alright. I’ll be Isla.”

Mira reached out and squeezed my hand. “It’s only temporary. Your real name is still waiting for you somewhere. You’ll find it.”

I wanted to believe her.

When the doctors finally declared me stable enough to leave the infirmary, I expected to be sent away. Perhaps to some distant village. Perhaps abandoned at the border. Instead, two senior healers and a stern-faced palace steward appeared at my bedside on a gray morning.

“King Hale’s household is short-staffed,” the steward announced without preamble. “You are strong enough to work. You will serve as a junior maid inside the royal palace. Room and board will be provided. In return, you will remain under the pack’s protection until your memories return… or until the king decides otherwise.”

I sat up straighter, one hand automatically covering my stomach. “I… I can stay?”

“For now,” he said. He glanced fleetingly at my stomach and away again. “Pregnant women aren’t often asked to work heavy jobs. You’ll be doing light jobs, like cleaning the outer hallways and changing sheets, and helping out in the kitchens where you can. Do not go into the royal chambers unless you’re told to. Don’t speak about the King’s health beyond these walls. And don’t wander.”

Mira, who’d remained to help me put on the plain gray uniform that they were giving me, leaned in close and whispered, “It’s better than nothing, Isla. It’s safer in the palace. Hale’s people are loyal.”

I nodded, though fear still coiled low in my stomach.

Safe.

I no longer knew what that word truly meant.

The Palace of King Hale Cross was unlike any sterile hospital.

It was immense. Cold. Stunning in a way that made my heart ache with reasons I could not put a finger on. The white-stone walls were high up to the ceilings that were adorned by crescents and silver wolves painted long ago. There were endless corridors lined by huge windows allowing the pale northern light to pour through. There was always an odor of pine, of polished wood, of power maybe. Of mourning.

I had never met the king.